Foolish
by anarchyinwords
Summary: Even if it's been six years since Voldemort fell, everything is not back to the way things should be. WILL CONTAIN MATURE ADULT CONTENT.
1. Prologue

The humidity caused his white button-up shirt to stick uncomfortably to his chest. He was making it worse, sobbing like a newborn. He used the back of his sleeve to roughly wipe away all his emotions.

_Malfoys don't show emotions. They don't cry, not even when they are children._

Snape was dragging Draco Malfoy by the crook of his arm as they ran through Hogwart's grounds. He could hear Snape muttering under his breath, but he could not make out the exact words for the maniacal laughter from the other Death Eaters.

He chanced a look up at the dark sky to see the Dark Mark cast a lingering glow above the school. Taking a deep breath, he looked away. He could still see green when he shut his eyes.

He was leaving a world he was used to: It was safe, welcoming. Now, he was going to his parents, to Voldemort, to the dark. Though he tried hard, with the help of Dumbledore and even Harry Potter, to break away from all ties he had with Voldemort, in the end, he had no choice.

Harry is running after the group of Death Eaters, yelling obscenities that directed more at Draco than any of the others. Even though he hadn't been the one to kill Dumbledore, he did little to stop it. Merlin, he actually gave them a way to do it so easily.

Someone cast _Expelliarmus, _sending Dumbledore's wand flying before he even tried to defend himself. Perhaps the old professor was going to die anyways and he knew that, but dammit, Draco wished Dumbledore defended himself a little better. He could have done something, being the most powerful wizard known.

Dumbledore didn't look resentful or misguided—he acted like they were asking him to tea—which really bothered Draco more than anything Voldemort could do to him. He should have been quivering, trying negotiate. Was he not intimidating enough with Death Eaters behind me? Each of them baring a Dark Mark on their arms, some more proudly than others.

Draco finds himself shouting, "I've got to do it! He'll kill me, my whole family would be killed!"

The rest of the night was a blur, part of it was because of the tears falling from his gray eyes, gathering on blond eyelashes. The main part was because it was a dream reliving the best and worst day of his life.

How he wished to be back in that empty corridor earlier that day, pressed between the stone wall and Harry, giggling when he said something funny before he would bend down and kiss Draco once again. Harry was holding onto Draco like he was going to reject him at any point.

When the kiss broke apart, Draco smiled and ran his hand through Harry's disheveled hair.

"I love you, Harry."

The door creaked loudly as a house elf pushed it open, holding a large tray in her hands. "Erza brought Master Draco breakfast. His favorite! Pastries and tea with plenty of sugar," she said, even more nervous that she had just woken him up, "It's a quarter past noon, and you told me not to let you sleep in late, yes?"

"Yes, yes, sit it at my desk, Erza. Would you go bring the mail up after you feed the owls?" Draco practically jumped out of the bed once the door shut behind the house elf donned in worn rags.

He walked past his breakfast, knowing that Erza cast a spell to keep it warm. He needed to do something today, knowing that it was one of his only days off from work. Without giving it much thought, he dressed and left the master bedroom. Even on his days off, Draco found himself stuck in his father's library, studying potions like his life depended on it.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One: Quarter Past Midnight**

Shrieks of laughter could be heard from down the long corridor. It was a quarter past midnight, and Draco desperately wanted to go home. It was yet another party being thrown together, celebrating the retirement of someone else in the Ministry. If he had a Sickle for each party he attended, he would be a much richer man.

His mother and father always told him to attend a party when invited, even if you detested the person. Unlike his parents, he never stayed too long. It gave him a headache, standing around with an empty glass of wine. He left his present, a bottle of aged wine, on the table by the door before leaving.

Perhaps it was because the candles were barely emitting any light, or Draco might have had one to many drinks. The chandeliers were hanging low, causing the crystal pieces to shimmer like stars.

Draco finally found himself on the Atrium, surrounded by fireplaces on either side. It had better lighting and was much more open when there weren't hundreds of people filing in or out. The only person he could see was the elderly security guard, who had quite a few jinxes under his belt if anyone ever tried to sneak inside.

The Ministry of Magic had changed a lot since the war; parts of the building had to be rebuilt after one of Voldemort's final attacks centered solely on the building. Those who still believed everything was okay, changed their minds almost immediately.

Draco remembered coming in after it had been repaired, letter of recognition in hand. His long robes were wrinkled from having to sleep in less than welcome places, under the same roof as Voldemort for months until Wonder Boy finally fulfilled the prophecy. Potter described it a little bit better in the first interview he did afterward, Draco mused with a smirk as he remembered watching Harry stand behind a podium in muggle clothes and his hair a mess. Even when he was the savior of the Wizarding World, he still didn't care enough about himself to iron out wrinkles.

The Atrium still looked the same: It had the fountain in the middle of the room, tall enough to nearly touch the blue ceiling, and the only new addition was a statue of Professor Dumbledore, who still had a hidden glimmer behind his crescent glasses, dressed in dark purple robes. It stood next to the receptionist's desk, greeting people with a warm smile with sparks of mystery.

Draco didn't come to work for the Ministry until a year or two after the war ended, of course. He had gone abroad, gathering ingredients for various potions that, according to one of his father's old potions books written in runes, actually helped those who were wounded in the war. He would travel out to countries like Ireland or Germany, gather the needed ingredients , return to his lab, and crank out as many potions as he could. Then, he would send them to St. Mungo's via house elves.

In fact, the retirement party was for the head of the Committee on Experimental Charms, a man Draco had scarcely seen even when he worked for the man.

Draco was about to walk towards the exit, but a certain blonde caught his attention.

Luna sat next to the fountain, her bare feet dangling from the side. She was looking around, rather absentmindedly, as usual. Draco walked up to her, choosing not to sit down even when she patted the cold, empty seat next to her.

"Why are you out here and not back at the party with your husband? I'm sure Longbottom misses your charm and quirk," Draco said, knowing that Luna wouldn't notice or care about his smart ass attitude. They were friends now, he mused, meaning that they saw each other daily and both became unaffected by the other.

She finally looked him directly in the eyes, a slight smile on her lips, "I'm quite the loner, Draco, so I'd rather be out here by myself than at that party."

"You'd never guess who I saw at the party tonight," Draco said, deciding to sit down next to Luna.

"I know you saw Harry Potter. He came because I told him to, and I know he would feel guilty if he didn't go to Gilbert Wimple's retirement party."

"He didn't stay long, did he?"

Luna shook her head, simply saying, "He had a prior engagement, Draco. I'm going to visit him soon though to discuss a new charity we thought of together. I'm going to write an article about it."

Draco looked away, knowing that if he looked her in the eyes, she would see the amazement he held. Harry was always thinking of ways to rid himself of some of the fortune he had.

"What kind of charity?"

"Art shows. He said if I could find any artists willing to help him..."

"No," he said immediately, sounding like he did as a child, lying through his white teeth.

"You love making artwork!" she said, sounding exasperated, "That's why I told him you would do it."

"You told him I would_ without asking me_?"

"He didn't appose it, so I'll be at your house tomorrow. Noon, I assume."

Luna stood up, clearly a few inches taller in her high heels. "I'm going to go find Neville now. Goodnight, Draco... Oh, yes, be sure to bring some work tomorrow.


	3. Chapter Two

He hated the warm, self-conscious feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. No matter how many times he told himself that this was just for business, he couldn't help but feel that Harry was wishing for something more. It was foolish, simply put, because Draco knew Harry was happily engaged, according to multiple resources he had. To Ginny Weasley. On his own free will.

It was a nuisance that he felt that he was still a teenager at Hogwarts; whatever he tried to do to rid himself of these feelings, nothing prevailed.

As he hummed along to a muggle song he overheard the other day, he began to get dressed. A simple spell, a flick of his wand, removed all those pesky little wrinkles. He was sure to dress in something simple. He remembered clearly how much Harry hated it when he saw Draco dress up, said it made him look much to snobbish.

Scoffing at the idea, he decided to leave his gray button-up shirt untucked; furthermore, he did not button the top two fastens on his shirt. He pushed the sleeves up, rolling them as casually as possible. His mother would kill him if she saw him dressing like this. He simply wore a pair of slacks, as usual.

Draco looked over at the grandfather clock, it just happened to be one of the oldest Malfoy heirlooms that he owned, to see that it was nearly time for Luna to be arriving at his front door.

He fixed his hair through the reflexion a mirror before heading down the stairs. He bypassed breakfast, knowing it wouldn't be wise to eat when his stomach was doing flips and causing knots like the first time he ever _Apparated_.

The last thing he needed to do was decide on which sketchbook he should bring. It was not like he had many, not quite in the double digits, but some of them were better, happier. He did own a few that he used during the war, which was one of the reasons he refused to ever open it. He made the mistake of looking through it one night: He could not fall asleep for the self-loathing he felt. Angst.

He wanted to show Harry (and Luna) that he was capable of drawing something—anything—that could hang on the walls of an art show, but it would be hanging in someone's house the very next day.

Draco didn't want to admit to himself, but he was acting a bit like a prat. A lovesick one, perhaps. He was pulled in two different directions: work with Harry like they barely knew each other or to try to barge into Harry's personal life.

Neither idea seemed doable, knowing Draco's determined outlook, which some people annoying to the nth degree, so he tried to think of a way he wouldn't make an ass out of himself.

He did decide on a book to show them. Inside, there were drawings with most completed. He flipped through the pages, looking at them rather slowly, remembering exactly what he was going through when he would sit down with pencil in hand. His father had just dodged going to Azkaban, his mother was trying to go into hiding from Voldemort, and he just spent three hours traveling by broom, sobbing like a little kid. The only thing that Snape did to comfort his godson was to run inside some story only to come out with this olive green sketchbook and a pack of art pencils.

He didn't have any where he could go, no way to contact, and no company except for the group of ill-fitting Death Eaters. They moved for two or three days before going to the Malfoy Manor. Until the war started, he barely left his room unless his bloody Mark began to burn. Then, he went downstairs with his mother, frightened.

Yet, most of the pictures weren't all that dark at all. Some of them were so-so, hinting at melancholy undertones. He had drawn a few macabre pieces, mostly revolving around his dreams. Looking back at them now, they didn't make much sense. If Luna or Harry questioned, it wouldn't be likely.

"Draco? We're going to be late for your date," Luna yelled through the door, causing Draco to jump. He turned on his heel, quickly shuffled over to the door, and opened it. She stood there, smiling at him innocently.

"Why didn't you just knock? Or wait downstairs?" Draco asked, walking outside of his makeshift workroom, shutting the door behind him. The entire time he made sure Luna couldn't look inside. It was messy; paint scattered the walls and hardwood floors, he had canvases stacked up, and literally cans of paint sitting around. He never wanted anyone to see how messy he could be. Malfoys were not supposed to be messy. It showed weakness because cleanliness is next to godliness.

"Flooed in. I yelled for you forever, but you didn't answer," she said, "I had to make sure you didn't try to skip out. Are you ready to go now?"


	4. Chapter Three

He instantly regretted not hexing her when she showed up at his house. When they _Apparated_, he figured they would appear at the doorstep of Harry's house, but she decided to take a detour through the neighborhood, conventionality singing along to the very same song he was humming to when he was getting dressed. Now he wondered just how long she had been listening—hopefully not peaking in to get such an eyeful—to him.

Also, Draco was rather curious as to how she did it all without him noticing. Either he was growing old and dreary-headed or Luna was more than just a war hero they claimed her to be.

Luna waltzed up the stairs, pulling her wand out of the pocket of her sky blue cardigan. Draco followed close behind, looking over his shoulder to see that this was a normal neighborhood as any other. The only difference from the next street was the unfortunate numbering between houses 11 and 13.

This place was infamous; Death Eaters did talk smugly about it, nonsense mostly. At one point during the war, it was discovered its location, and they demanded their ways in. Hell, Draco could have been in here, probably not by choice, to attend a meeting.

Luna stopped short of opening the door, hesitating. For just a second, he could have sworn that she saw how stupid this was.

Draco didn't need to be here: He had not even stepped inside the house yet, but he already felt unwelcome. He looked at Luna, who was holding her wand over the doorknob; she looked back at him with a smirk, knowing exactly what he had been contemplating.

"You're a Malfoy, remember?" she asked when she saw Draco was trying to think of a way to escape. His lips were moving without words coming out, and he looked like he was trying to compute a hard mathematical problem without a calculator. "Malfoys aren't scared of facing something they dread. He's not going to straggle you or anything when you walk inside."

"Go ahead, then," he muttered, defeated but actually determined now.

One tap of her wand caused a musical of clicks and rattling of chains that lasted only a moment before the door swung open. She walked inside 12 Grimmauld Place, leaving Draco to follow behind her, unsure he was supposed to even be there, ever.

"I'm imposing," he whispered as he stepped inside, letting the door shut itself behind him. Inside, the house looked even more perfect than he ever thought possible. He had an irking that Harry hired someone to do interior design because he knew Harry could never dress himself for the occasion. Let alone decorate the entire foyer to look like a city in Italy.

The walls had a design on them, a little darker than a cream color that was certainly darker than his transparent skin tone. The walls were covered in a scarlet hue; golden accents, like the scones, gave it a much lighter look, softening it overall. On the far wall, there were many portraits hanging in a straight line. If he looked closer, he would see pictures of the Weasleys, Dumbledore, and his parents. The biggest and most interesting one was the twins testing one of their many experiments on Ron, silently laughing with their hands clutching their knees.

Being so close to his friends, even those who pass, was extremely Gryffindor.

Draco would have never known that this was once a dark, damp place where no one would ever want to live. He could just imagine seeing Harry and Ginny sitting in the middle of the kitchen, thinking it all out, joking about painting the guest room pink that would turn black and bleed freely from the ceiling to floor.

She must have seen him gawking like a child in awe because she nudged him with her elbow.

"He traveled a lot after he defeated Voldemort. He took Ginny to Florence for their honeymoon, you know," she said, stopping short inside the room that seemed to be deamed the kitchen. Draco made a noise between a gargle and a whimper. She removed her sun hat made of straw or something that resembled that material—all Draco knew was that she prided herself on making it by with a plant that was to bring good luck. "Don't worry, Draco, he hasn't been back in Italy since Ginny left him. Says he doesn't have the heart for it."

She did not seem to notice that he visible relaxed when she relieved that little information. Even though he wanted to ask more, Luna raised her hand very lightly to decline. "I know, Draco, but it's a long story that I think that Harry might know a little bit better."

"What might I know a little bit better?" Harry asked, his booming voice was warm and kind. No bitterness at all.

"Nothing. We were just talking about what you did to this place," Luna said, sitting down at the kitchen nook which was located directly across from the stove. Draco quickly sat down next to her, hoping it was safer to sit down instead of standing where he could easily bump his head on the floating cookware. Perhaps that was a sign that Harry didn't grow any taller since he last saw him; maybe Draco would actually be the taller, demure one.

Harry shuffled into the kitchen, wearing a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up and a pair of simple jeans, a smile on his slowly aging face. "Good morning, Luna, Draco."

At last did Draco allow himself to breathe normally again. Though Harry looked only a little older, he still didn't show any gray whatsoever. His black hair was still a mess atop his head. It grew out another inch since he last saw him in the Daily Prophet.

"This house was a bloody nightmare to clean. So much dark stuff that I felt depressed going through it. It was right after the war, and Ginny was planning the wedding. I set out to make this place home. I did almost all of this myself, really. I'm still not done with all of it, and I don't plan to finish it. I desire to leave Sirius's room the way it was." Harry was talking oh-so nicely about all these mundane things that did interest Draco but not quite what he wished to hear. Yet, he found himself starring at Harry's back, drinking in the sight and hanging onto his ever word.

"I hope you don't mind pancakes. It's all Lily will eat lately. I'll make some tea, also," he said, pointing his hand to the ceiling, bringing down a pan. He continued to point at various places, bringing all the ingredients floating to the counter top.

Draco looked over at Luna who only returned with a wicked grin. "I forgot to tell you there's a little Potter running around," she whispered lowly, "Her name's Lily Molly, and she loves being the center of everybody's attention. When she comes down here, get ready for a mini-Harry, only sweeter and girlish."

It was true, Draco discovered that she quickly made friends with everyone and anyone. She was lucky enough to have her father's dark hair, but with that came the mess. She did have her mother's eyes, but other than that, she was like a small Potter, in both oddity and appearance.

She latched onto Draco the entire time. She sat on his lap as she ate a chocolate chip pancake that was covered in syrup too sweet it made Draco's stomach ache. She drew him about three different pictures with magical crayons that caused fireworks to crackle when you would touch the picture. Eventually, she made him draw her something in return.

Lily was a handful, making it a distraction to stay on track with Harry's plans. Draco could clearly see that he had it all planned out in his head from the way he talked animatedly and threw hands around carelessly.

What Draco didn't want to admit was clearly hanging in the air. It was awkward, trying to hide the past like it never happened. If they were supposed to work together, Draco knew that he would have to be alone with Harry. They would have to get over this. Hopefully.

Hours tick by quickly. Luna has a quill in hand, writing down main ideas that Draco and Harry came up with. It was over way too soon, but his wristwatch began singing about reporting back to the office to pick up work.

They wrapped it up, all smiling in excitement of this project actually being up in the air. Draco felt the same way, but he was leaning a little bit more on the fact that Harry didn't even try to hex him once.

Luna put on her hat, tipping it dangerously far to one side. She hugged Harry and kissed Lily on the forehead before _Disapparating_ with a loud pop.

Draco opted on hugging Lily and shaking hands with Harry, who seemed to let his smile falter when he shook back. He looked like he had a comment on the tip of the tongue but chose to bite it back. Instead, he let his hand drop slowly, trying to elongate the touch.

"I nearly forgot I wanted to see some of your work. Did you bring some?"

Draco nodded, managing not to blush as he handed it over. Without looking down at it, Harry asked if he could look over it at night. He promised to return it as soon as he was done.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter 4: Once a Hero...

It was like drinking blistering hot coffee much too fast—the smallest of sips would undoubtedly leave a scalding burn that makes nothing taste right for days. Also, this feeling of confusion and even hatred was like taking that sip in vain because you were in too much a a hurry to let it cool.

Once Draco and Luna walked out his front door. Side by side, they walked to the edge of the yard, where Harry thought they would both _Disapperate _from there, yet he was proven wrong when only Luna left in a sharp crack like a large stick breaking in half. Draco lingered, smiling back at the house almost like he knew Harry was watching through the magical peephole.

Draco seemed to look even more pale in the sunlight, and it was almost like he barely went outside anymore. Perhaps those dark robes were making the matter even worse; a contrasting force that made Harry question the very idea of why he was wondering about Draco's bloody health.

Harry wanted to know what was going on as he watched Draco stand there with a look of remorse or pity or some broken Malfoy perception of emotion. He swore to himself that he would stay away from him, simply to let bygones be bygones.

They were adults now, many years older than what they were. Harry just didn't see the point in keeping faith, so he let it dwindle down as if it were a candle burning down the wick. Surely, Draco and Harry had fallen in and out of love with each other and different people since then, right?

That didn't matter anyways because... because he was already gone, taking quick strides down the sidewalk, his arms folded in a flamboyant manner that brought up memories of a sneaky, little rat stalking up and down the corridors with a sneer.

Harry turned, sketchbook under the crook of his arm, and made his way to the den where Lily was playing with a toy. It was a foreign toy, all the rage in Ireland. The most interesting part was when you made a noise resembling a certain mythical creature, it turned into a multitude of different mythical creatures when you made a noise resembling it. Furthermore, it came with a whistle that Lily wore around her neck; she made sure her father set it on her favorite animal, the Antipodean Opaleye.

From a small, gray egg popped a small dragon with multicolored eyes, roaring just above a whisper. Bright feathers at the tip of its tail fluttered about as it flew around the room, diving close to the ground and doing flips over the other toys. There was an occasional puff of fire, which was proven nothing but a trick of the eye when Harry tested the toy out when George bought last Christmas.

He tried to ignore the little book that was taunting him with a worn look.

~~x~~

Harry managed to shy away from the sketchbook for the rest of the day as he busied himself with work. Every once in a while, he would emerge from his study, rubbing his sore eyes, to see one of his three house-elves watching over Lily as she dawdled around.

When he would have to let Lily out on her own, at such a young age to be away from him for such long intervals, he would not know what to do with himself. He was just as dependent on her, for she needed him to be there for her, to be her father. Once a hero, always a hero.

The clock had sped up a considerable amount while Harry busied himself at such a pace, trying to uproot any unknown detail about a new case. No matter what he did, he still found a reason to help someone. If he had one downfall, he knew it would be this very obsession.

Harry knew it wasn't for the attention, for he shied away from media and compliments with a deep blush on his cheeks. He did it because his stomach would twist in knots and there would be a moment of complete happiness just because he prevented a catastrophe or ended a reign of mourning. All of those feeling, Hermione reminded him ruefully were similar to being in love.

He tucked Lily into her bed, read her a short story that he remembered from primary school, and made his way up the staircase to the third floor where his room was. He smiled slightly when he remembered his godfather, brought up by memories of seeing Sirius's bedroom as a teenager, which was located almost directly above Harry's room on the fourth floor.

"Would Master Potter like Kreacher to draw a warm bath? Kreacher is sent back for the night. Mistress at Hogwarts wanted to make sure Harry Potter is doing well," the small house-elf said, appearing with a loud crack. He stumbled up the stairs, attempting to keep up with his master's long strides.

"No, thank you, Kreacher. You can stay the night here, if you would like. If Mistress McGonagall wanted you to come for this visit, I expect she wanted you to stay the night. Perhaps you wore her down, or she pitied that you missed your cupboard."

Every once in a while, Kreacher would reappear with word from McGonagall, knowing very well that this was her method of keeping an eye on him in the most invasive way possible.

Harry stopped short of the door to his room. He looked down at the elf, who barely came above his knees. "Go on, go down to your place. In the morning, go to the store for me before you go back to Hogwarts. The list is on the fridge. Also, see me so you can take a note back with you."

In all truthfulness, he didn't care much to have Kreacher visit now that he was no longer hateful or full of spite. He sent the old, spindly house-elf to serve at Hogwarts, working in the kitchen with the others. If Harry didn't give him something to keep him occupied, he would grow grumpy. Once, Harry neglected giving Kreacher tasks when he visited, the elf began pacing up and down the stairs, yelling obscenities about Mudbloods and trying to retrieve the portrait of Walburga Black. It took him weeks to finally blast that bloody thing off the wall, and that was something he certainly didn't want to repeat.

Finally, Harry made his way into his bedroom, which was a little too warm for his comfort but he did not even feel like casting a cooling enchantment. Instead, he slimmed down to just an undershirt and boxers before climbing into the four-poster bedroom.

He carried Draco's sketchbook around with him all day; it was quite obvious when you looked closely, fingerprint smudges covered the leather.

Why was he putting this off, he didn't know. He especially didn't have a hellish clue as to why he was clinging to it so dearly.

Harry frowned, showing those small signs of aging. In the last attempt to put it off just to be him stubborn self, he sat it down on his nightstand directly next to his wand, and turned the lights off.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter 5: Maybe

"_He wouldn't have gone to any of those meetings for two reasons: the fear that his mother would be murdered and the pain he felt surging through his body when that bloody mark on his arm began to sizzle and burn like it was on fire. You bloody well know that, Harry. Even Ron understands that, and he wants to deny that Draco Malfoy, especially all the other Death Eaters out there, is a human being," Luna said, pulling her hair back only to let it fall back down where it lay straight and now frizzy from the contact of her hand. She's sitting next to him in a room familiar to the times they spent on the Hogwarts Express. Not quite, but close._

It's already morning, but Harry doesn't really notice until his alarm clock goes off. No matter how much magic he was accustomed to, only a simple, irritating noise from this mundane device managed to wake him up most mornings.

He had been in that state of being awake but not really fully there. An exhausted state of mind, subconsciousness telling him to let sleep overwhelm him and denying him the will all at the same time. For all he knew, he could have been asleep with his eyes open. Didn't know, didn't care much for details either.

Truth be told, Harry did not sleep at all that night. He looked through the sketchbook, trying not to humanize Draco like a friend. It was rather tiring, but he couldn't fall asleep even after he put it down. If he closed his eyes, he thought of the drawings. Some of the more extravagant ones had been enchanted so that they became like a short video clip. Those were happy ones like a drawfing of a Golden Snitch fluttering around a Quidditch pitch was extremely detailed and painted in so neatly. Harry thought it could have been a photograph.

Perhaps Draco was experiencing some sort of extreme mood swings or the time between drawings were long, yet Harry doubted the latter was true. He discovered, while studying the front page more closely, that _June and July 1997_ was engraved in the bottom, left-hand corner. Was this some method of getting his emotions out after he nearly killed Dumbledore?

Harry was angry at first—he contemplated throwing it away right at that moment—since he wanted to know what reason this coward needed some form of therapy.

He remembered something Draco put in here on one of the first couple of pages which had changed his mind. It was a copy of the very same obituary, long since written by Elphias Doge, that Harry had kept from so many years ago. There were actually signs that Draco looked at it frequently after he went into hiding.

Harry began thinking, even though he realized it probably wasn't a good idea at four o'clock in the morning, and he came up with some plausible reasons. He had no true friends, his father was his role model growing up, sheltered and coddled by his mother... He could imagine the day he saw Draco crying, staring at him in a complete shock because he didn't look so perfect then. Maybe Harry had a horrible childhood, but Draco's probably wasn't much better...

~~x~~

He walks inside the Burrow and no longer feels so tired anymore. Mrs. Weasley is in the kitchen, cooking like she always does. Ron's next to her, magically turning the faucet on as to wash his dirt-clad hands off before his mother complained. Harry let go of Lily's hand and watches her run upstairs to find someone to play with her.

She learned at a very young age not to stay too long in the kitchen; give her adoptive grandmother a kiss on the cheek and nothing more. Otherwise, she would be dragged into helping. Lily would much rather play with Hermione or George. She'd even settle playing with Fleur when she and Bill visited, even though all Fleur seemed to do was dress her up in dresses with flowers and sparkles.

Ron moved around his busy mother to meet Harry with an one armed hug, using the other to playfully punch him in the chest. "Ah, the great Potter makes his appearance for the first time in a week. Mum thought you disappeared."

Harry barely managed out a laugh before Mrs. Weasley made her way to him with her arms held out. Ron moved away so she could squeeze him tightly.

"I've started a new charity. Helping this orphanage get their heads above water. Recently, the Ministry had to cut back on funds, right when a huge flood of children needed housing."

"Such a thankful boy—well, I guess I should say man. Just don't overdue it," she warned though she still had a large grin planted on her face. "Go on and take a seat. Lunch will be ready in a few. George is upstairs with little Fred and Roxanne. Once the little ones start playing, George will surely have his hands full."

Ron plopped down in a chair and patted one next to him. Things hadn't changed much. The family was still so close, they had most meals together. More little ones have been added to the mix, but it was still very much a rowdy bunch that loved their family.

"Where's 'Mione?" Harry asked after he noticed Ron wasn't going to press the absent of the third member of the trio.

"She had an appointment with a healer. I offered to go, but she did nothing but nag about needing to have the ability to do some things by her self. She said it wasn't that she didn't love me, but a simple trip to St. Mungo's over something unimportant didn't need my assistance. Women."

A kettle began to whistle which brought them all back to the real world. Hermione had a point because Harry noticed that Ron was trying to be a good husband, but it just didn't play out that way. The newlyweds were still much the same as they were in Hogwarts. Maybe a smudge more maturity. Possibly.

Harry leaned back in his chair, laughing along with Ron as he jested.


End file.
